


Fully Into The Darkness

by slimelord



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, and everything is queer, eve falls into the darkness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-11-27 07:36:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18191651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slimelord/pseuds/slimelord
Summary: Niko is staying with relatives and Eve has more space to process her feelings.In the wake of that strange day in Paris a darkness is growing in her and she starts to feel like she isn't alone.It's probably just her brain in shock, but she can't help but hope it's more than that.(Basically Eve is very broody and very queer)





	1. The Sea

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually my first ever fic... (Ignoring a very sad and short lived attempt at a Faith/Buffy fic 10 years ago..)  
> So please be kind, I am not a writer, I just need more villanelle/eve in my life.
> 
> Any constructive criticism is very welcome! I am a big rambler so I'm trying to start off with short chapters, but the plan is to keep this going for a good while bc I'm a big nerd for slowburn stories.
> 
> Rated M for future plans
> 
> Chapter named after The Sea by Corinne Bailey Rae
> 
> ‘The sea,  
> The majestic sea,  
> Breaks everything,  
> Crushes everything,  
> Cleans everything,  
> Takes everything,  
> From me.’

                               

* * *

 

 

It was midnight and the house was completely still, save for the sharp clang of the knife against the chopping board.

Eve had planned to have an early night, but she found herself feeling increasingly restless, acutely aware of time passing her by, urging her to keep moving, to avoid the excruciating static running through the empty house.

She’d only recently taken to cooking meals from scratch in a frantic bid to keep herself busy, to avoid the all consuming emptiness that had taken root in her chest.

Eve rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, she felt completely run down. For the past week she had given up on the pretence of going to bed. Especially since Niko wasn’t here to make her feel guilty for not taking care of herself.

That wasn't fair, he didn’t _make_ her feel guilty, not on purpose anyway. But the worried expression on his face had become a permanent fixture lately and Eve felt an immense sense of guilt in his presence.

As she started to crush the garlic, pushing her weight down, pressing the palm of her hand against the flat of the knife, she thought about her husband. It hurt, and she couldn’t help but feel consumed by guilt, for Niko, and... well. She blinked, shaking her head, she was too tired to start this shame spiral again. Since Niko went away Eve had felt such relief. She used to find comfort in the ties that connected her to her loved ones. She was always the one to arrange catch ups and make plans, but something was different. What used to ground her had become so constricting. So stifling. She felt constantly too exposed, yet dissociated at the same time.

It was a week ago now that Niko announced he was visiting family in Poland. She remembered the way his voice trailed off as he told her that he’d be away for ‘at least’ a few weeks. Eve hadn't even thought to comment, nor did she ask him why. Niko's voice was quieter than usual, gentle when he told her. He looked as if he were asking her a question, even though they both knew that there was nothing to say. Still Eve couldn’t forget the way that he looked at her, as if he was silently hoping to evoke some sort of reaction within her. To finally connect. Eve wished so badly that she could have reached out, held his hands, looked into his eyes and said... something, anything. But there was no going back. She knew that the second she stepped into the house for the first time after what happened, her hands burning with blood long washed away.

That was the first time Eve realised that she could no longer pretend, that her comfortable life was slipping away from her. A bittersweet feeling enveloped her, eyes starting to water. Though no tears fell down her cheeks. Now, it was all beyond her.

At first the excitement of chasing assassins (or one in particular) kept her rooted in the comfortable home life she shared with her husband. It became easy to split herself into two people. One, a woman who enjoyed getting into pajamas at 7pm and watching TV with her husband. The other, someone who was fascinated with darkness, drawn into a world of murders and conspiracies. Someone who wondered what it felt like to be stabbed, to look into bright, cold eyes as the life drained from her body. At the same time imagining what it was like to feel no remorse, to kill, to see the art in murder and chaos.

She knew now what it was like to cross that boundary, to act on impulse, to take someone's life in her hands.

It felt as if this was written on her forehead, 'killer' in bold for everyone around her to see.

Niko wasn't the only one that she had started to push away; friends, family, people she used to exchange pleasantries with easily, had all felt a change in her. The first few days after Paris she had felt like a ghost, unable to touch anything, to eat or to drink. She started to stay up throughout the night on the sofa drinking wine and reading obsessively, slowly she had stopped sleeping in bed with Niko, in their room. She remembered he had been so considerate, so patient. He tiptoed around her, which only made Eve feel more disconnected.

 

Feeling strangely serene, she flattened her hand to slide the vegetables and garlic, already chopped, into a bowl and started to cut the mushrooms slowly but carelessly, struggling to connect to the task at hand. She couldn't stop thinking of something Niko had said a few nights before he left. They had been cooking together, a new routine, the only real intimacy Eve could offer him lately. She had been stood at the counter, palms flat down on the cool marble, trying to engage in the conversation. Niko was talking over his trip, reassuring himself and her, that they would both have a great time, telling Eve how she would surprise herself, suggesting things she might enjoy doing. His eyes lit up.

 

‘It might be good to change the house around a bit.’ He suggested, his tone was even, but the way his front teeth played on his bottom lip betrayed him.

 

‘I think it would be good for both of us to get rid of... I mean I know she’s gone, but sometimes I feel like-.’

 

Eve inhaled sharply through her nose. ‘I _really_ don’t want to talk about her, Niko’

 

‘I know, I know. I just worry that this house is a reminder for you... I just want you to feel safe’ Niko trailed off sounding defeated.

 

She hadn’t been able to say anything. Her chest felt like it was being slowly deflated, the guilt was overwhelming. He was only trying to make things easier for her. But it had unlocked something in Eve. As she spooned the vegetables into the sizzling oil, she still couldn’t shake it. The lingering presence, _her_ presence. It had been with her since Paris, but she had only really accepted it during that conversation. Honestly, because she knew that no matter where she was, it would still be there. She would still feel her. No amount of DIY or painting would make a difference.

Worst of all, was the fact that she felt comforted by this. Somewhere in the mess of guilt, despair, exhaustion and fear... there was a tiny shred of hope.

The more Eve thought about this, the more she began to feel as if all her anxiety, her restlessness and her guilt was _finally_ reaching a plateau. And after eating her midnight dinner she poured herself a glass of wine, climbed the stairs and for the first time in over a month, slept in her bed.


	2. That Wasn't Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve continues to feel like she isn't alone... She also thinks about what happened in Paris, vividly. And why exactly it happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the last chapter of intense and solitary reflection, I swear...  
> Less lonely Eve next chapter and more bumbling awkward Eve.
> 
> I'm still working out this whole fanfic thing, so any comments would be super welcome! 
> 
> Also can I just initiate a collective celebration since series 2 is only 6 days away!  
> What a time to be alive.

* * *

 

Chapter 2

 

The sound of the wind woke her, pushing through the trees outside, branches and leaves thrashing against the walls of the house. Rain was coming down hard against the kitchen window, like lots of tiny pebbles tap-tapping against the glass. Hail, probably. Eve let out a long sigh, half sat up on the sofa, eyes blinking rapidly, not quite focused yet. She ran her hands through her unruly dark curls-turned knots. Disheveled after a night spent tossing and turning on the sofa.

She did continue to sleep in an actual bed a few days after that night spent cooking and reflecting at a ridiculous hour. But last night was different, she continued to feel that presence. The hairs on the back of her neck lifting as that familiar chill spread throughout her body. It made no sense, but on nights like these she couldn't go up to bed, she would sit in the living room, part of her mind occupying that space at the dinner table just behind her, where she had once stood opposite villanelle, dripping with water and terrified.

That moment, talking to Villanelle, eating with her, looking at her; she felt something... different. The feel of the cold knife against her still wet skin, Villanelle's breath was warm, a gentle contrast to the look in her eyes. Chilling, bright. Eve felt her fear mixing with something else. She felt alive. Even now, just thinking about it was overwhelming.

Eve tentatively stood up and walked to the kitchen, she checked the time on the microwave. 7pm. Wow, she must've only been asleep for an hour. Another series of sighs escaping her lips, she opened the fridge and decided on a bottle of rose that Niko had left. That'll do. She was more partial to red wine, but beggars can't be choosers. Forgoing the glass, she sat back down on the sofa, taking a swig from the bottle.

It was true that a small part of her was scared to be home alone. 10 years is a long time to spend living with someone, and the stillness, the complete quiet was not something that felt natural to her. Eve didn't want Niko to leave. Not really. But there wasn't any part of her that was prepared to talk to him about everything, to tell him how different she felt. Seeing the horrified look on his face would be too painful. She just wanted the comfort of knowing that someone was there. She knew that was selfish, but the idea of being left truly alone was terrifying. Eve clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, rolling her eyes at her own hypocrisy.

Crossing her legs on the sofa, Eve leaned back on one hand, grasping the bottle with the other. The room began to feel cold. There it was again. That feeling. As if a breeze were washing over her. A feeling that she could only liken to the early days of dating Niko, back when they were totally wrapped up in eachother. She would get this feeling the moment after he left the room. She knew he'd left, but he was so close, she could still feel him, smell him. His presence hadn't left the room yet. The only difference was this strange addition of fear mixed with... something else.

Pretending not to think too deeply about these chills was easy until very recently. It was happening a lot more, and there was nothing to distract her from the inevitable. The question that she hadn't allowed to form fully, and yet at the same time it was always there, at the back of her mind. A question that lead to an endless supply of follow up questions.

Is she alive? And if so, where is she?

This question unveiled a possibility that caused her intense distress, which is exactly why she'd spent the past month fighting so hard against herself, refusing to think about it. But now she couldn't help it, and she felt overwhelmed with fear. Not of Villanelle, which would be the most rational reaction. No, she was afraid that the consequence of her violent decision would be that the cold eyed, vengeful assassin would never make contact with her again. Pathetic.

The possibility that Villanelle wasn't alive... felt ridiculous to Eve. Perhaps she was too scared to consider it, but mostly she just felt like she would know. She wouldn't still _feel_ her.

Legs still crossed, Eve bent over herself to place the now empty bottle of wine on the floor, and scoffed out loud. She barely recognises herself, she thinks, staring down into a warped reflection of her face on the neck of the wine bottle. Honestly this started long before Paris. Even before she was recruited by Carolyn, before things with Niko had become routine. There was always a part of her she kept hidden, a keen fascination, a darkness. But after Paris she felt herself fighting away thoughts and impulses that were whispers at first, but were now loud and exhausting and most of all... exciting.

She wonders if things were different, whether her life would have stayed... comfortable. Predictable. Or was something always going to change? How long is it possible to hide such a long concealed part of yourself?

Still disheveled, the dark haired woman let her head fall into her hands. There were too many questions, and her stomach was rumbling. It probably wasn't wise to drink the better part of a bottle of wine on an empty stomach. Eve rubbed her face, groaning as she got to her feet and walked to the kitchen. There was probably something in the fridge. She rooted around, and settled on some celery for now. Takeaway is probably the best option at this point, she thought. Eve took out her phone, pulled up an app and ordered herself a curry.

Whilst waiting for her food, she rifled through the cutlery draw for a knife to cut the celery with. She spotted a small kitchen knife and reached out to pick it up, shaky hands traced the blade softly. The metal was cool to the touch, and her fingers clasped around the handle felt strong, secure.

Eve lowered herself onto a kitchen stool, knife still in hand. Familiar feelings started to overwhelm her.

That day has been running through her head, replaying for weeks. She remembers the satisfaction she felt smashing those champagne bottles all over the floor, just after she had run her fingers over the perfume bottles, the clothes, the furniture. She was stood in her apartment, surrounded by her things, barely able to contain her anger. The moment the door clicked open and slammed shut Eve grabbed a gun and a knife from the drawer, hiding the knife between the waistband of her trousers. Briefly centering herself before she heard footsteps, the dark haired woman turned around and came face to face with Villanelle. A tingling sensation enveloped her, moving to her stomach and settled there.

The younger woman didn't look anything the blood thirsty assassin in that moment. Eve thought she looked small, vulnerable. Her face was scattered with bruises and scabs, her posture relaxed. Villanelle even sat down when asked to. Maintaining the pure rage that motivated her to grab the knife was a struggle. The dark haired woman knew that she intended to do something, to hurt the assassin in some way. But to what end? It wasn't clear, even in that moment.

Since Berlin, since Bill, all Eve wanted to do was destroy this woman in some way. At least that was the plan most of the time, except when she was actually stood in front of her. Sometimes it felt like what she really craved was to consume her. To know everything, to feel everything. To leave nothing behind. Perhaps she wanted to obliterate Villanelle, or perhaps she wanted to obliterate the part of herself that this woman had awoken.

As she sat opposite Villanelle she tried to remind herself of Bill, of Frank and countless others. The problem was that as they spoke, the older woman sat on the bed, face to face with the woman she'd been hunting, it wasn't what she expected. This was nothing like the time Villanelle had broken into her house, the look in her eyes was soft, still a hint of hardness there, but nothing like the fake tears she shed in Eve's kitchen, or the cocky look, the bright flashing eyes. This seemed so genuine.

Before she knew it the words were coming out of her mouth.

'I think about you all the time'

At first when Eve laid down on the bed it was calculated, to appear weak, to lure the other woman to let her guard down. But the moment she felt the mattress dip and a warm body beside her, all rational thought stilled. How was it possible to be so acutely aware of someone's presence, when they aren't even touching you? The tension was unbearable and when she felt the body beside her shift, Eve knew that if she turned around to face the younger woman there was no going back.

The older woman moved her hand down to the hidden knife, took a breath and shuffled onto her side. A gasp nearly escaped her lips, she could somehow feel Villanelle's warm skin although they weren't touching. She dared to look up and found herself frozen in the other woman's gaze. Villanelle tentatively moved her hand to Eve's face and swept invisible stray hairs away, stroking the skin behind her ear and on her cheek. She shivered at the contact and noticed the younger woman's eyes moving to her lips and up to her eyes again.

Villanelle started to lean in. Eve tightened her grip on the knife.

'I've never done anything like this before' She said, trying keep her voice steady, unable to decide what she was really meant by that.

The younger woman leaned in even closer, at last her expression changed, she looked sure of herself now.

'It's okay, I know what I'm doing'

Suddenly Eve felt like she had broken out of a spell. When a hand reached out towards her, she felt almost angry, furious. Not because Villanelle was going to kiss her but because she thought it was that easy, that simple. As if Eve was simple, as if she was weak. The hand holding onto the knife moved between them, and when the other woman felt it against her she opened her mouth in a silent gasp.

'Wow, that's rude'

Despite her comment it seemed like Villanelle was actually surprised. Impressed even.

'Yeah'

Eve enjoyed that she might have shocked the other woman. And she felt incredibly powerful pushing the knife into her, excitement mingling with something else... something perverse. Eve thought she might still want to kiss villanelle, there, with that knife between them.

That is, until Villanelle was so sure that she wouldn't.

'You can't' She said, a smirk spreading onto her bruised face.

Eve felt sick. This woman thought she was weak, that she wasn't a threat. She had found her, where MI6 couldn't. Eve had actually managed to track down the assassin, not because she was stupid. She wasn't like Anna, or Nadia.

This couldn't have all been for nothing, all the pain, all the blood shed.

Whatever tension was between them from the start was more than this, more than just a quick fuck on a bed. Eve needed her to know that she could do it, that Villanelle underestimated her. She thought again of Bill, falling in between the crowd in the club in berlin, colour draining from his face.

'I _can_ '

Eve felt blinded by fury, all at once needing to show villanelle what she was capable of, needing to even the score. She pushed the knife in, hard, her anger compacted then, she felt the hard knife as an extension of her hand, pushing against soft tissue, ripping through it. She felt blood trailing down her hands. The other woman gasped, Eve flipped them over, needing to be closer to this moment, pushing down on the knife.

Until she saw the look on villanelle's face. All at once she realised that villanelle wasn't mocking her, she had trusted her. Her eyes are pleading, shocked. Eve is overcome with panic. She hears 'don't pull it out' and instinct tells her to pull it out, to undo it.

There's blood, so much blood.

**DING DONG**

The sound of the doorbell pulls her out of the memory. Unsteady on her feet, Eve mindlessly walked to the door, opening it to reveal a very confused looking delivery man standing at her door. They both stare at each other for a moment. Eve furrows her brows. 

'Hi?'

His eyes are on the knife in her hand. 'Oh, sorry... I was just, uh... chopping' She gestures lazily to the kitchen, slowly crouching down to put the knife on the floor. She digs in her pocket for some money and hands it over slowly, attempting a smile as the delivery man hands her the food and practically sprints away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly hope this wasn't too torturous to get through, I am a big fan of the stream of consciousness rambles, but very bad at coherence.
> 
> Thank you for reading :3

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. name is literally just a reference to Sandra Oh's comment about Eve in S2
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
